


Running with Scissors

by FidotheFinch



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Protective Jason Todd, Stabbing, but it is accidental, jason and damian share the true sibling experience of roughhousing gone wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-24 17:01:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22061353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FidotheFinch/pseuds/FidotheFinch
Summary: Damian looked down and winced. “I’ve been stabbed.”
Relationships: Jason Todd & Damian Wayne
Comments: 19
Kudos: 476





	Running with Scissors

**Author's Note:**

> Another old Whumptober fic, posted in time to count toward my 2019 ao3 word count stats ;)  
> ((Forgive the title, I am bad at Naming Things))

Damian shrieked with rage. “You’re cheating! _”_

Jason smirked from his right, ducking his head lower over his game controller. “It’s not cheating, it’s using my resources.”

They both jumped when the game blasted “ _GAME OVER,”_ the sound both fuzzy and whiny over Dick’s cheap speaker set.

Jason’s face lit back up. “Ha! See that, squirt? You owe me five!”

Damian harrumphed, crossing his arms and raising his chin in his holier-than-thou expression. “ _You cheated._ I do not owe you _anything_.”

Jason stretched to lean back against the foot of Dick’s overstuffed couch. “You bet I couldn’t beat you at _Cheese Viking_ ; you never said I couldn’t cheat to do it.” He ducked when a piece of popcorn flew toward his face. “Hey! You tried to out-play a player, and you lost. Take it with dignity.”

The next piece of popcorn hit him squarely between the eyes. “Real mature.”

Damian’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “You know what I like about Richard’s apartment most?”

Warily, Jason replied, “What?”

Damian shifted his weight. “Every room is equipped with _weapons!_ ” With the last word, he lobbed a giant orange throw pillow at him.

Jason had no room to duck, and the pillow smacked him in the chest. With a laugh, he scooped up the pillow under his head and tossed it at Damian, who cackled and rolled behind the coffee table they had nudged aside before their round of _Cheese Viking_.

Jason sat up properly and accumulated the rest of the couch pillows. “Alright, shrimp, you asked for it!”

Game and bet forgotten, they broke into war. Jason used his height to get a good angle over the table and launched a stream of pillows at the kid. But that only gave Damian more ammunition, and he began flinging the cushions back in earnest. For all that Jason’s height was an advantage, it also made him an easier target.

Jason reached down to grab another pillow off Dick’s couch—(he really did have _so many pillows why?_ )—and his fingers closed around empty air. Breathing hard, he looked at the floor surrounding himself. “Oh my gosh, you’re hogging all the pillows?!”

Damian snickered, and Jason chanced a peek over the table to find the smaller boy sitting on a mountain of (clashing, garish) pillows. “I’m just using my resources.”

And it was Jason’s turn to duck. He laughed, even while being pelted with bagged feathers and polyester. Damian’s face was split into a wide grin, and Jason privately marveled at the genuineness of it. “Okay! Okay! I take it back! You don’t owe me any money!”

Damian clicked his tongue. “Apology accepted.” He still held a cushion in his hand, though, and he jumped on top of the coffee table with ease, kicking aside the odd tools and magazines Dick had left there. “But I take no prisoners. Prepare to accept your defeat.”

He raised the pillow—the densest, most heavy one—over his head.

His foot came down on the corner of a magazine, and he slipped.

Jason sprang forward, but he only got a face full of pillow. Damian tumbled off the edge of the table, and then he was a ball curled up on the floor.

Jason crouched next to him. “You okay?”

Damian clicked his tongue. He rose on his elbows and his face twitched in discomfort. “I have been better.”

Jason let out a breath. Dick was going to kill him. “Okay, we’ll grab some ice and I’ll start cleaning up the living room before Dickie gets—” he cut himself off, eyes wide. “What the hell?”

He couldn’t process what he was seeing. Twin black loops stuck out of Damian’s side.

Damian looked down and winced. “I’ve been stabbed.”

Jason thought back to the fight. There had been scissors on the table.

And they were inside Damian now.

“Oh my god.” Jason let out a hysteric laugh. “You stabbed yourself. On _scissors_.”

Damian looked annoyed, but he also looked a little pale. “Yes.” And it was telling, that he had no witty comeback.

“Okay, hang tight. I’m calling Dick.” Jason fumbled with his phone, and by the time he had gotten it to his ear he had changed his mind.

He answered on the second ring. “ _Hello?_ ” There were violins playing in the background, drifting in over the idle chatter of whatever event Jason and Damian had weaseled out of.

“Bruce.”

“ _Jason? What happened?_ ” Because Jason never called if it wasn’t an emergency.

“Damian’s been stabbed.”

Bruce’s breath caught. “ _You weren’t supposed to be on patrol!_ ”

Jason’s shoulders tightened. “We’re _not_. There was an accident and—”

Damian coughed. Jason’s attention snapped back to the room, and he scanned the kid again. There was a growing dark blotch around where the scissors disappeared in his side. Damian coughed again, and it was dry, but it made Jason more worried. “He was stabbed in the side. Scissors.”

“ _I’m on my way. Alfred!_ ”

Jason tapped his fingers against the phone impatiently. He eyed the scissors. Damian coughed again, and this time he winced on each inhale. Jason wrapped a hand around Damian’s much smaller one and squeezed in what he hoped was a comforting manner. “Bruce is on the way.”

Damian nodded, eyes focused with intent on the ceiling.

“ _Master Jason?_ ”

“Alf, I think I can take them out—”

 _“You will do no such thing until we arrive. You know better.”_ Jason winced. Alfred’s voice mellowed into a warmer tone. _“Where was he stabbed?”_

“In the chest, on the side. It must have gone between ribs, because it went deep.”

There was a murmur on the other side, and Jason guessed it was Alfred relaying the information. _“How is his breathing?”_

Jason pulled his eyes away from the scissors to stare at Damian’s chest. “Normal.” Damian inhaled quickly, and Jason added, “Coughing,” just as Damian let loose another loud and shallow cough.

Alfred paused on the other side of the phone, and Jason realized this was bad.

_“Wet cough or dry cough?”_

“It’s dry.” Jason squeezed Damian’s hand again. Damian squeezed back, but his hand shook with the force of his coughing.

_“I am contacting Dr. Thompkins. We should arrive within fifteen minutes and we will take him to her clinic. He will be needing surgery.”_

Jason’s eyes widened, and he looked down at Damian. Damian’s face was red with exertion, breaths calming back down for a reprieve. “Surgery?”

_“There is a chance the scissors entered his pleural cavity. If we fail to act we risk a collapsed lung.”_

Jason’s head was spinning. How had this all gone down hill so quickly? “Okay.” He took a deep breath. “What should I do in the meantime?”

 _“Do_ not _pull out those scissors. Keep him calm.”_

Damian was doing a pretty good job of that, all things considered. He seemed more miffed about the accident than anything.

“I’ll do my best.” Jason hung up. “They’re on their way, squirt. Don’t freak out on me.”

“Tt. You’re the one ‘freaking out’.” Damian propped himself up on his elbows and glanced around the room. “We should clean up before Richard arrives. He will be angry.”

“Are you kidding me?” Jason pressed on Damian’s shoulders until he was lying back again. “No, you’re staying there before you force those scissors to pop a lung like a balloon.”

“That’s not how it works,” Damian grumbled. “And I feel well enough to sit up.”

Jason had to push him down again. “Don’t make me duct tape you to the floor. You aren’t sitting up until you’ve been cleared by a medical professional.”

“Tt.” Damian wiggled on the floor, finding a pillow to prop his head on. “You sound like Richard.”

He sounded calm, and even if it was shock or the last remnants of an abusive childhood, it was a balm to Jason’s nerves. He forced his face to relax enough to smile. “Yeah, well, don’t expect me to start collecting ugly pillows.”

Damian’s mouth twitched up at the corners. “I will bet you five dollars you have at least one by the end of the year.”

Despite himself, or maybe because of stress, Jason laughed. “Okay, kid. You’re on.”

They lapsed into silence as they waited. Jason started to actually clean up the living room, because Damian wouldn’t stop trying to sit up until the room was back in order. ( _Not_ because Jason had nervous energy to burn off.)

Damian’s breaths steadily got shallower, and his coughing got worse. Despite this, his face remained relaxed, except for a small crease between his eyebrows revealing his annoyance at his position.

“You okay?” Jason asked.

Damian shot him a look that screamed sarcasm, but then he just closed his eyes again. “My chest feels tight. I suspect I am having trouble breathing.”

It was Jason’s turn to be sarcastic. “You think?” He scooted closer and rested his arms on top of his raised knees. “Bruce should be here any second now. With an ambulance.”

“Not the helicopter?”

“Jeez, he has—you know what, it doesn’t even surprise me. Yeah, he’s probably bringing the ‘copter for you.”

Bruce did bring the helicopter. He almost kicked the door down on his way in, leading a group of paramedics inside the apartment. Damian winced when they transferred him to the gurney, and it was that small motion that told Jason just how much Damian hurt.

The medic fit an oxygen mask over Damian’s face. The smaller boy’s hand reached toward Jason, and Jason took it. “Keep breathing, okay?”

Damian rolled his eyes. His hand squeezed Jason’s, and then he was whisked away.

* * *

On Christmas morning, Jason returned from patrol to find an unmarked package on his kitchen counter. Opening it revealed a tasteful herringbone-knit crimson pillow, and a letter that read, “Accept your defeat.”

Jason laughed, and threw the pillow on his couch. He’d have to invite the kid over sometime.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not saying this happened to me, but it may have happened to someone I grew up with. Don't jump on the bed, folks!


End file.
